My sister and I were sitting with our
needle-work in the living-room. Little Harry was on the floor,
occupied with some toys. I was paralyzed with fear; my sister did
not move. We sat gazing at each other, scarce daring to breathe,
expecting every instant the heavy walls to crumble about our
heads. The earth rocked and rocked, and rocked again, then swayed
and swayed and finally was still. My sister caught Harry in her
arms, and then Jack and Willie came breathlessly in. "Did you
feel it?" said Jack.
"Did we feel it!" said I, scornfully.
Sarah was silent, and I looked so reproachfully at Jack, that he
dropped his light tone, and said: "It was pretty awful. We were
in the Goldwaters' store, when suddenly it grew dark and the
lamps above our heads began to rattle and swing, and we all
rushed out into the middle of the street and stood, rather
dazed, for we scarcely knew what had happened; then we hurried
home. But it's all over now."
"I do not believe it," said I; "we shall have more"; and, in
fact, we did have two light shocks in the night, but no more
followed, and the next morning, we recovered, in a measure, from
our fright and went out to see the great fissures in that
treacherous crust of earth upon which Ehrenberg was built.
I grew afraid, after that, and the idea that the earth would
eventually open and engulf us all took possession of my mind.
My health, already weakened by shocks and severe strains, gave
way entirely. I, who had gloried in the most perfect health, and
had a constitution of iron, became an emaciated invalid.
>From my window, one evening at sundown, I saw a weird procession
moving slowly along towards the outskirts of the village. It must
be a funeral, thought I, and it flashed across my mind that I had
never seen the burying-ground.
A man with a rude cross led the procession. Then came some
Mexicans with violins and guitars. After the musicians, came the
body of the deceased, wrapped in a white cloth, borne on a bier
by friends, and followed by the little band of weeping women,
with black ribosos folded about their heads. They did not use
coffins at Ehrenberg, because they had none, I suppose.
The next day I asked Jack to walk to the grave-yard with me. He
postponed it from day to day, but I insisted upon going. At last,
he took me to see it.
There was no enclosure, but the bare, sloping, sandy place was
sprinkled with graves, marked by heaps of stones, and in some
instances by rude crosses of wood, some of which had been
wrenched from their upright position by the fierce sand-storms.
There was not a blade of grass, a tree, or a flower. I walked
about among these graves, and close beside some of them I saw
deep holes and whitnened bones. I was quite ignorant or
unthinking, and asked what the holes were.
"It is where the coyotes and wolves come in the nights," said
Jack.
My heart sickened as I thought of these horrors, and I wondered
if Ehrenberg held anything in store for me worse than what I had
already seen. We turned away from this unhallowed grave-yard and
walked to our quarters. I had never known much about "nerves,"
but I began to see spectres in the night, and those ghastly
graves with their coyote-holes were ever before me. The place was
but a stone's throw from us, and the uneasy spirits from these
desecrated graves began to haunt me. I could not sit alone on the
porch at night, for they peered through the lattice, and mocked
at me, and beckoned. Some had no heads, some no arms, but they
pointed or nodded towards the grewsome burying-ground: "You'll be
with us soon, you'll be with us soon."
CHAPTER XXII
RETURN TO THE STATES
I dream of the east wind's tonic, Of the breakers' stormy roar,
And the peace of the inner harbor With the long low Shimmo
shore.
* * * *
I long for the buoy-bell's tolling When the north wind brings
from afar The smooth, green, shining billows, To be churned
into foam on the bar.
Oh! for the sea-gulls' screaming As they swoop so bold and
free! Oh! for the fragrant commons, And the glorious open
sea! -
For the restful great contentment, For the joy that is never
known Till past the jetty and Brant Point Light The Islander
comes to his own!
- MARY E. STARBUCK.
"I must send you out. I see that you cannot stand it here another
month,'' said Jack one day; and so he bundled us onto the boat in
the early spring, and took us down the river to meet the ocean
steamer.
There was no question about it this time, and I well knew it.
I left my sister and her son in Ehrenberg, and I never saw my
nephew again. A month later, his state of health became so
alarming that my sister took him to San Francisco. He survived
the long voyage, but died there a few weeks later at the home of
my cousin.
At Fort Yuma we telegraphed all over the country for a nurse, but
no money would tempt those Mexican women to face an ocean voyage.
Jack put me on board the old "Newbern" in charge of the Captain,
waited to see our vessel under way, then waved good-bye from the
deck of the "Gila," and turned his face towards his post and
duty. I met the situation as best I could, and as I have already
described a voyage on this old craft, I shall not again enter
into details.
